


Superbat Oneshot Collection

by minT (justiceleague)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Overstimulation, Slight Power Play, Smut, batman has a sense of humor, clark talks bruce into some shit, i maybe might have implied bruce is afraid of leaves, silliness, will update these as I post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-09-14 19:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justiceleague/pseuds/minT
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles based off prompts, ranging from smut to fluff.





	1. Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "Clark and Bruce dancing \o/"

The room was packed and loud, the large, decadent space managing to feel cramped with the number of arms brushing and the dull roar of a crowd in the background.   
  
Clark meandered a bit, picking up tidbits of conversation from afar that might be useful in his article, but not overly applying himself; it was a little overwhelming, and trying to control his hearing in that environment was taking its toll. He honestly wanted nothing more than for the evening to reach the point where it wouldn’t be rude of him to leave.   
  
He took another sip of champagne - the only thing pulling him through thus far, even though he wasn’t drinking nearly enough for it to have an effect - and huffed out a sigh as yet another few people brushed past him, heading for the slightly more spacious dance floor in the center.   
  
He edged closer to the outskirts of the party, subconsciously tugging at his jacket. He knew very well that he didn’t have much option as  _ Clark Kent  _ other than to wear ill fitting suits, but it still got at him, in the midst of the throngs of the wealthy, well-dressed, Gotham elite that populated Wayne functions like this charity ball. He felt out of place and  _ uncomfortable. _   
  
He didn’t get to take more than a few steps though, before a strong hand clamped around his elbow and started tugging him back. Well, strong for a human, anyway; Clark had to let himself be pulled to keep up his pretense of human strength.   
  
A glance over at the hand revealed a familiar dark head attached to it, with glinting, blue eyes and the hint of smirk.  _ Bruce. _   
  
Clark raised his eyebrow in question as Bruce steered him through the masses and onto the gleaming dance floor.   
  
“You were looking mighty uncomfortable, Kent. Thought I’d lend a hand.”   
  
“Is that so, Mister Wayne?” Clark rebutted, inching back slightly. Bruce tightened his grip. He leaned in, mouth brushing Clark’s ear as his voice dropped into a whisper.   
  
“No one can see us talking if we dance like this.”   
  
“Well, I think the thing to do if you want to dance with someone is  _ ask them. _ ” Clark responded with mock affront.   
  
Bruce’s face lit up with a playfully seductive smile. “Won’t you do me the honors then,  _ Clark? _ ”   
  
Clark rolled his eyes but accepted the hand proffered, as Bruce pulled him close and spun them out into the many other moving and twirling couples.   
  
“What’s this really about, Bruce?” Clark asked after a moment of Bruce leading him, skillfully.   
  
Bruce didn’t answer, and Clark’s eyes started picking out the bright dresses standing out from the rest, passing in a blur; beautiful women standing alone, waiting for their turn to be asked. Clark frowned.   
  
“People are gonna talk, Bruce Wayne asking an average looking  _ male _ reporter to dance, when a bunch of pretty women are there wishing they could be latched onto him instead.”   
  
Bruce grunted. “Average?” he asked, like he disagreed. Clark nudged him reproachfully. “Yes,  _ average. _ It’s part of the whole secret identity thing, the act. Just like your whole ‘handsome and debonair’ thing.”   
  
That got a snort out of Bruce, causing Clark to crack his own smile. “But really, you usually try to keep  _ Bruce and Clark _ separate at these kinds of events. Is there a reason we’re dancing?”   
  
Bruce stayed quiet for a moment, leaving Clark to think he was not going to answer again, before he answered, “You looked like you needed a distraction. And maybe some more elbow room.”   
  
“And you still sound like you’re hedging. How’d you even notice me in here?”   
  
Bruce didn’t answer yet again as he spun Clark, unexpectedly, before pulling him back close, closer than before. His breath fanned over Clark’s ear, the warmth seeping a blush into his cheeks as Bruce whispered: “Maybe I was watching you; and maybe I just couldn’t resist asking you to dance.”   
  
That drew a shocked chuckle from Clark. “You’re not drunk, are you?”   
  
“Maybe a little.” Bruce admitted, and Clark felt the world tilt back into place, because Bruce being drunk made a little more sense than Bruce publicly ogling and flirting with him.   
  
Clark’s breathing hitched as Bruce suddenly pulled him into a complicated maneuver, twisting and dipping him with ease. “But not that drunk.” Bruce added, like he had pulled the move just to prove it. Clark’s face erupted into flames.   
  
“Bruce, dammit. You can’t - we both have images to maintain and if you do stuff like this, I’m gonna -”   
  
“Contain yourself.” Bruce bit out, voice low but in Clark’s hearing. Clark felt his body react instantly, both struggling to comply with the order in the tone, and the way it  _ didn’t want to fucking contain itself  _ when Bruce talked like that.   
  
“I’ve been forced to want you all night. Now you’re going to dance with me like a good, mild mannered reporter, and deal with it like I did.”   
  
“You’re evil, you know that?” Clark glared at him.   
  
Bruce smiled serenely, his mask dropping back into place. “Now, now, Mister Kent.” He chided, hands dipping down Clark’s back, lower than the small of it, until he could relish in Clark’s slack jawed reaction, red blooming out even darker.    
  
Clark bit his lip, keeping back whatever else he wanted to say as Bruce kept them moving, weaving in and out between the other dancers. The music drifted on, as their bodies kept rhythm to it, and Clark relished his proximity to Bruce even though it drove him crazy with every additional moment.   
  
They had time for other kinds of dancing later in the night.    
  



	2. Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bruce taking Clark apart with his mouth 😏

Clark trembles, shivers wracking his thighs, and Bruce smirks into his skin as he feels the restraint Clark is holding himself back with, revels in the flush it draws to Clark’s cheeks with the effort. His stomach feels wound up with something, that pulls him through every motion even though some demanding part of him just wants to get on with it.  
  
He nudges at Clark’s legs, spreading them wider, careful not to use his hands. His tongue maps, explores - wholly unmarred skin that seems almost surreal, but is no less beautiful for it. He stops to suck what would have been a bruise into the juncture of Clark’s hip. The skin remains blank and perfect, but it draws a high-pitched keen from Clark anyway.   
  
He pulls back with what he knows must be a self-satisfied expression. “Roll over.”   
  
Clark complies almost instantly, though not with a fraction of his usual grace, muscles drawn taught and legs shaky from all the attention. He still manages to support himself on them, back bowing a bit so his ass is arched into the air.   
  
Bruce takes a moment to appreciate, to take in Clark’s curves and dips, before he drops down to mouth at the small of Clark’s back. He can feel Clark’s unsteadiness more clearly this way, with him supporting some of Bruce’s weight - it unravels the thing in his belly a little, tugging at him, telling him to undo Clark completely or else it won’t be satisfied.   
  
He starts to kiss his way down Clark’s backside - open mouthed, wet, reverent. Clark is mumbling, growing louder as Bruce carefully skirts around his hole, teasing. He tests one lick over it, the flat of his tongue, not entering, and Clark bites off a curse.   
  
“F- _Bruce,_ please, I need-”   
  
Bruce licks at him again, firmer.   
  
“Please touch me!”   
  
Bruce grins. “No.” He says, smacking a loud kiss against Clark’s right cheek.   
  
Clark groans. “What, are you just going to tease me all night?”   
  
Bruce presses in closer, so he knows his warm breath is fanning over Clark. He hesitates, drawing out the moment of anticipation for Clark, not saying anything or moving. Then in one smooth motion, he dives in, pressing into Clark with his mouth. He moves quickly, fucking him with his tongue, and Clark jerks with the shock of it, no preparation to hold back the gasp.   
  
Bruce works him thoroughly, relentlessly, until he can feel the quivering in Clark’s legs again. He lets himself moan into Clark, knowing that the slight vibrations would feel good, and that Clark would also love to know he’s getting off on eating him out. _Which he is._   
  
Clark’s open mouthed and panting, sounds and more cut-off curses being breathed out as he clenches his fists into the bedspread, determined to contain himself for Bruce’s sake.   
  
Bruce isn’t having it. He starts sucking in alteration with thrusting in deeper with his tongue, harder, faster, until Clark starts sounding like his breathy gasps are being punched out of him. Bruce moans into him again, long and deep.   
  
“F- _fuck,_ Bruce, fuck, fuck-”   
  
Bruce can’t quell the fierce monster that grows inside him, pleased and more hungry all at once, having broken Clark down to spilling out his held-back words. Clark is pushing back into him, desperation communicating in his body as well as his tone.   
  
“Fu- I think I’m gonna- _fuck…”_   
  
Clark spasms, clenching around Bruce, body jerking with his orgasm. Bruce slows down to ride him through it, but doesn’t stop. He keeps a steady pace, even as Clark relaxes around him and his tired legs seem to want to collapse.   
  
He keeps going, until Clark is writhing against him. Bruce finally touches him - only his hands, right on the curve where his hips meet his thighs, holding him in place. His grip is firm; Clark would have to probably hurt him to make him release, but he won’t. Instead he whines; he begs, a few stuttered pleas falling from his lips as he bucks, trying to get away.   
  
“It’s too much, Bruce!” Clark pleads, oversensitive and tired, but he doesn’t break Bruce’s hold. Bruce keeps going, a few seconds, a minute longer - then he rewards Clark’s restraint by pulling away and pressing a last kiss against him, on the back of his thigh.   
  
Clark’s shaking body collapses against the bed. “ Bruce.” He moans into the pillow, drawn out. It sounds half like a complaint, and half like awe. Bruce lowers himself down on top of Clark, lining himself up on his broad back and pillowing his chin on his hands. He noses at the back of Clark’s hairline, peppering a few, small kisses as Clark’s breathing slows down.   
  
“You good?” He offers.   
  
Clark laughs. “Very. Where the hell did you get the idea to try that?”   
  
Bruce smiles back. “An annoying reporter once told me I had a smart mouth that could be put to better use, so I decided it was a good idea.”   
  
Clark gapes a little, before a shocked little chuckle comes bursting out. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”   
  
“Oh believe me, Clark,” Bruce assures him, rumbling and sultry as he presses his erection up against Clark’s ass, “I haven’t stopped thinking of it since.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me prompts [here!](http://superbat.tumblr.com/ask)


	3. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I would love to see them have a walk in a park or hike idk. Just those two in nature! "

Clark takes in Bruce’s uneasy expression with a slight chuckle.  
  
“Not used to being away from Gotham’s smog cover and paved sidewalks?”   
  
He brushes an overhanging branch out of the way for Bruce, who takes an extra-cautious step around it anyway.   
  
“Funny, Clark.” Bruce’s glare says he finds it anything but.   
  
Clark offers a marginally sheepish shrug. “What else am I supposed to think? I just wanted to-” Clark breaks off a moment while he makes a grab for Bruce’s hand, drawing it up to his own chest, “- _do something together,_ in all this nice weather, with the park trail right there….and I have to hope your surly demeanor has to do with you not being into _nice weather_ and nature trails, because otherwise it would be because of _me.”_

Bruce levels a glare that roughly translates into “you absolute moron,” a look Clark has grown increasingly familiar with.  
  
“I’m not…” Bruce trails off, hesitation creeping into his voice the way it does every time when he’s about to make a personal admission, and his eyes shift all around him, alert. “...the most comfortable around too much green. I have a _history._ ”   
  
Clark’s brain stumbles for a second, trying to process “Bruce is scared of something??” before he realizes that he’s referencing _Poison Ivy,_ and that he’s basically just admitted to being unable to relax in presence of plants.   
  
Clark tries to keep his reaction retained, skirting wayward twigs and vines in their path, scrabbling to keep it from bubbling to the surface.   
  
He makes it 20 seconds.   
  
Bruce stops walking altogether to raise an eyebrow and stare Clark down as he folds over in laughter, clawing its way free out of his chest, wracking his sides until he has to slap his hands on his thighs.   
  
“Are you going hysterical?”   
  
Clark wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Bruce, I really am. I just can’t help it-” He chuckles again before he can form any more words. “-it’s just the funniest idea, that you of all people, actually _can’t_ be easy on a bright, sunny day in nature, when you’re always so at home in the creepy, dark alleys of Gotham at night. It’s poetic.”   
  
Clark giggles a little again, after saying it out loud, while Bruce remains as impassive as ever.  
  
Just when it feels like it’s teetering on the ledge of an awkward moment, Bruce opens his mouth: “You’d think you of all people wouldn’t be laughing over the idea of being afraid of _green._ ” He says with emphasis and the slightest uptick of his mouth, as he starts strolling away.   
  
Clark thinks he’s probably supposed to rise to the bait, but instead he just grins broadly and enjoys the view of Bruce walking away from him.   
  



	4. Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark wants to fly with Bruce....on his back. Because it's cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a cut scene from from my Big Bang piece because it didn't fit quite right, but I loved it too much to lose it :P

“Bruce. Bruce, come on. You know you want to.”   


  
Clark’s voice is annoying, grating with it’s childlike exuberance; or at least Bruce keeps telling himself it is, like repeating it will suddenly make it true. 

  
  
“I know no such thing.” Bruce growls.

  
  
“I know the boys have talked about it; we would look cool! Batman and Superman, their own dynamic duo!” Clark strikes a ridiculous pose, one arm flexed and the other extended.

  
  
“You can’t seriously think I would look ‘cool’ riding on your back, can you? Or that I would put any stock into looking ‘cool’?”

  
  
Clark grins at him, knowing, teasing glint behind his eyes. “You dress like a bat and use a voice modulator to sound more intimidating. You have the world’s most coveted car. I think you clearly care a lot.”

  
  
Bruce turns away, refusing to dignify that with an acknowledgement. 

  
  
Clark sighs and throws his hands up. “Please? Forget looking cool, okay, I concede; it would be pretty funny. But that’s the point!” 

  
  
Bruce turns back towards him, hoping his stare through the expressionless cowl communicates his disbelief all the same.

  
  
“It doesn’t hurt to loosen up a little. Plus, like I said, the boys have talked about it before; they would get a kick out of it.”

  
  
Bruce’s mouth is a grim line, betraying nothing of his thought processes, and Clark starts fidgeting in place, waiting for Bruce to shoot him down again.

  
  
“Fine.”

  
  
Clark goes rigid, clearly not expecting to have heard that. “What, really?”

  
  
“One time, around the perimeter of the manor, and not high enough that paparazzi could luck a decent photo. Agreed?”

  
  
Clark nods with too much exertion, eyes alight with excitement.

  
  
He looks not unlike a puppy with those large eyes, happy grin splitting his features in a manner that makes Bruce want to give one right back.

  
  
Bruce honestly can’t tell Clark ‘no’ to anything that has the promise of making him happy, and it really should bother him more than it does.

  
  
But it doesn’t, so he finds himself climbing on Clark’s back, shifting his perch until he finds a balance he can maintain, waiting to hear the delighted shrieks of his kids, not even bothering to to care about the inevitable weeks of ribbing and jokes he’ll be treated to by everyone within their circle.

  
  
With his luck, Tim will get a particularly unflattering angle and post it to Twitter. 

  
  
“Hang on!” Clark shouts, and he sounds so pleased.

  
  
It’s worth it.   



	5. Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a thing illustrating why the headcanon that Clark is shorter than Bruce is very good

“Bruce?” Clark asks, taking a toy from an enthusiastic Ace. He takes a moment to pet him, and carefully tosses the toy back across the cave, making sure it’s not strong enough a throw to damage something.

“Mmm.” Bruce barely acknowledges him, from where he’s tinkering with some gadget on the batsuit’s glove.

“Bruce,” Clark tries again, making his way a bit closer to the man’s work station. He comes to stand directly behind him, pushing up on his toes to hover a few inches above the ground so he can see more clearly over Bruce’s shoulder.

“You’ve invited me over here a lot lately,” Clark observes nonchalantly, like he’s only just realized and hasn’t been pondering over the why for weeks.

“Mm.” Bruce responds, a slightly more affirmative sound that makes Clark think he might actually be half listening.

“It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?” Clark prompts, hoping he might engage.

“Not really,” Bruce finally speaks, still sounding occupied. “That’s what friends do. Right?”

“Yes,” Clark says, like it’s besides the point. “But not long before this you were...you thought I was potentially the most dangerous thing on our planet. And I know I died and all, but when did you...you know, when did you start...trusting me?”

Bruce grunts and turns a little. “Didn’t I say we were friends?”

Clark smiles now that Bruce can see it, and drops back to his feet. “You did, and I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s just, I can’t quite place my finger on what changed, really. Even for friends, it’s a pretty big jump to go from stockpiling my biggest weakness to inviting me to hang out in your basement every weekend.”

Bruce finally, finally turns all the way around, full focus on Clark. His hands first cross over his chest, but then he appraises his defensive position, and leans back onto them, braced on his table.

“Why does it matter?”

Clark shrugs, fighting off a shiver from Bruce’s breath fanning over his face; he really did get far too into his space, didn’t he? He broadens his smile to bury the slightly awkward feeling. “Don’t tell me it was my all-American good looks, now.”

Clark is teasing, but Bruce raises a single eyebrow, and actually appraises him with a clear once-over. Clark’s mouth dries up.

“You know,” Bruce says, measuredly, pleasantly deep as he leans every so slightly in. “I do think it was…” he trails off, and Clark’s breath catches in his throat.

“Was?” Clark repeats, breathy.

“Was realizing that you were so short.” Bruce finishes, deadpan, as he turns right back around to his project and picks up a small screwdriver. “It really broke the illusion. Made it all the more obvious that you really were just another guy out of Kansas.”

Clark gapes for a moment, looking like a fish while he tries to figure out what the hell just happened.

“Short?!” He finally reacts. “I’m over six foot tall!”

Bruce shrugs, his back to him. “Being able to look down on the man hailed as a god feels the all the same.”

“You’re only two inches taller!” Clark exclaims, voice going little louder than he intended, and he has to take a moment to draw himself back in. It’s then that he notices the line of Bruce’s posture, tight and coiled like he’s holding something in, like he’s trying not to-

“You’re teasing me,” Clark figures out, and Bruce snorts, of all things.

“No,” Bruce answers, voice still betraying nothing at all. “I really rested the safety of the whole planet on my impression of your height.”

“The next time someone says Batman doesn’t have a sense of humor I’m going to tell them about this,” Clark mutters petulantly.

“Poor, tiny Clark; can’t handle getting picked on.” Bruce fake commiserates. “I suppose I should be the bigger man.”

Clark feels his mouth twitch out of control, and he sees Bruce’s shoulders finally release a little in tiny, almost imperceptible shakes of laughter.

“You really are such a dad,” Clark says through his wide smile. 

“Well,” Bruce says, sparing a glance back at Clark. “It’s what happens when you raise four boys.”

“Four? Really?” Clark responds, surprised.   
“Mmm,” Bruce hums as Clark settles in a chair beside him, eyes intently trained on him. 

“Tell me about them?” He asks, and Bruce sighs, setting down his work for the day, and he does.


End file.
